Which, to Ashley, meant that Mother thought she was not only smarter than everyone else, but that she didn’t need anyone. Which was just plain sad. Ashley tread extra carefully.
“I was attacked once,” she murmured, swallowing hard as the memory came roaring back. Talk about a trigger. There was hers, a heart-stopping recollection that could still push her over the edge in a heartbeat. But this trigger had nothing to do with what happened Friday night. Not a thing. This attack happened two years ago. Yet she continued. Sometimes sharing helped others. “He said he came to fix the thermostat in my apartment. I was in college. In between roommates. Instead, he was only there to hurt me.”
Mother stopped what she was doing. “Oh, you poor thing.”
Ashley nodded. Yes, for a long time she’d been just that, a poor, poor broken little thing, afraid of her own shadow and scared to death of men. All men. But she’d taken advantage of the experts she now worked with. She’d gotten a referral for a good counselor, and she was earnestly working to not be the frightened puddle of fear she’d been after that awful moment in her past life. Past was the key she clung to. That kind of brutal event would never happen again. It couldn’t. The statistics were stacked against that. Lightning did not strike in the same place twice.
Friday night was proof positive of that. Her attacker had just been a kid, a young man hooked on drugs. Not a malevolent killer like that other guy. Sure, the kid Friday night had cut her, but he hadn’t meant to. It was the drugs. He was sick. He needed help, not the beating he’d ended up getting, and all because an angry angel had appeared out of nowhere and saved her. No matter what she thought about his brand of justice, she was alive today because of that masculine, potty-mouthed, handsome as heck, avenging angel.
Was she stupid or what? Ashley almost fanned herself thinking of the man behind that grease paint. Where was he tonight? Saving someone else? No doubt. He probably did that all the time.
“But I’m not a poor thing anymore,” she told Mother, firmly shoving the more painful recollection of the two assaults into her past. “I still have panic attacks, though. Had a nasty one earlier today, but Tripp was there, and, umm… he helped me through it, and I guess what I’m trying to say is…” She’d lost her train of thought, so she reached out and took Mother’s hand. “I don’t know what happened with you. Heck, I don’t even know why everyone calls you Mother. But I didn’t get the sense that Jameson meant to be mean when he called you Mom. He doesn’t strike me that way.”
“He’s not,” she breathed, her voice so soft Ashley had to lean in closer to hear her. “He’s sensitive and sweet, most days. He’s thoughtful, and he always brings me something he thinks I’ll like. Nothing big. Just knick-knacks. Junk mostly. Sometimes a flower. It’s just that…”
Ashley braced for the words she already suspected.
“I don’t want to be anyone’s mother anymore. I had my chance, and I blew it. Then he makes it worse by calling me Mom.”
Ashley swallowed hard.
“I lost her, and I’d give anything to have her back, and now Alex and Ember… They’ve got brand new babies and...” Her head dropped into her hands. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t even know you.”
“Kindred spirits,” Ashley said softly. The office noises still clattered and murmured around them, but for a moment, she and Mother were sisters. “A smart person once told me that pain recognizes pain.” And pain was pouring out of Mother. The worst kind, the loss of a child. A daughter. “I can’t imagine anything worse than what you’re going through,” she said as she pressed her fingers around Mother’s forearm. “But if you ever need to talk—”
“Who are you?”
Startled, Ashley looked up into a set of crystal blue eyes so sharp, they could’ve passed for lasers. If looks could kill, she had a feeling she’d already be drawn and quartered.
“Me? I’m nobody, just Tripp’s n-n-neighbor,” she answered breathlessly. Whoever this guy was, he was bigger than life. Dark haired with a hint of silver at his temples. Ruggedly handsome in a scary way. Stern, tanned, and tall, he towered over her. Dressed in a crisp, gray business suit, he looked like he could breathe fire, and burn the entire building down. Authority crackled around him like electricity.
“Alex?” Mother croaked, furiously wiping her face. “Damn it, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with Kelsey. Wasn’t her doctor’s appointment today?”
Ah, so this was Alex Stewart. Tripp’s boss. Oh. My. Heck. He was almost as beautiful as Tripp. Only darker. A whole lot darker, not in skin tone but in a predatory, I-own-the-world kind of way.
“Sasha, her appointment was this afternoon. It’s evening. Already dark,” he breathed, his gaze riveted to Mother and his face a mix of emotions Ashley couldn’t decipher quickly enough. Remorse. Anger. Tenderness. Hate. Affection. All flashed across his countenance like lightning in a rolling thunderstorm.
One second, he was on the other side of the counter; the next, he’d grabbed Mother out of her chair, and she was glaring up at him. “Damn you, Alex,” she hissed, her fists clenched on the lapels of his suit jacket. “I miss her! Just like you miss Sara and Abby! Is that so hard to understand?”
“I know, I know,” he replied, his voice husky, his fingers splayed over her shoulder blades as he held on. “Grief is an ocean. You know that. One minute, it’s a free, easy ride, and you’re on top of the world. The next, it’s a
